


Reflections During Drive Time

by flammablehat



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boss/Employee Relationship, Community: summerpornathon, Humor, M/M, Team Gluttony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-08
Updated: 2012-07-08
Packaged: 2017-11-09 10:03:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flammablehat/pseuds/flammablehat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snapshots of Merlin's frustrations with his boss, Arthur, as seen through his daily commutes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reflections During Drive Time

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Summerpornathon 2011, challenge 3.

  


Merlin checks his tie in his rear-view mirror, finger combs his hair and reverses down the drive.

“Mr. Pendragon," he says to his steering column. "I understand— I _comprehend_ the importance of this merger to the company, but the quarterly profit report I’m looking at simply doesn’t support the expense at this time.

“Our profits for the quarter don’t support the expense at this time? This quarter’s profits can’t support the expense?

“Oi! Sod off you twat, I had priority. Fucking lorry drivers.

“Mr. Pendragon, while I appreciate what you’re trying to accomplish, we don’t have the funds to support the merger. Mr. Pendragon, while I appreciate both your enviably tight arse and well-disguised heart of gold, I can’t clear the expense for the Camelot buyout. I can, however, make it up to you with sexual favours.

“...Fuck me, today’s going to be rough.”

*

Eight hours later, Merlin’s tie has come loose and his hair sticks up on one side.

“What does ‘ _make it work_ ’ even fucking mean?” he shouts when he’s thrown the gear-shift into park in front of his flat.

  


Merlin’s tie is askew and his hair is still damp from washing. His tires squeal a bit coming out of reverse.

“Mr. Pendragon,” he releases on a heavy breath. “This isn’t exactly what you wanted, and I’ve already taken more liberties with Lady Vivian’s patronage than is strictly _legal_ , but it’ll hold our bid long enough to get corporate sponsorship. Or a miracle.

“Mr. Pendragon, you are a royal pain in my arse. Why do I do these things for you.

“Because I am a pathetic git. For your stupid...face.”

*

Eight hours later, Merlin hurls his tie into the passenger seat and slams his door.

“Talk to legal, Merlinella! Quit complaining Merlinella! Get me a cuppa, Merlinella! Perform miracles, _Mer_ linella!”

  


Merlin isn’t wearing a tie and in the rear-view mirror his hair looks a mad cross between electrified and matted.

“At the cost of my eyesight, sleep and sanity, Mr. Pendragon, here is a silver platter. And here is the capital for your buyout. And here is what remains of my brain. I don’t think I’ll be needing it anymore,” he says, staring into space, jerking when the car behind him honks because he hasn’t noticed the light’s turned.

*

Eight hours later, Merlin fumbles his door open and sits for a long moment before driving home.

He stares at his wrist, at the thin skin that still tingles from where Mr. Pendragon—where _Arthur_... curled his fingers, asked Merlin to call him Arthur.

  


Merlin’s tie is cobalt blue and his hair is combed into quiescence. He’s wearing cufflinks.

He’s wearing _cufflinks_ , for perhaps the first time in his entire life.

*

Eight hours later, the car rocks when Arthur tackles Merlin against it, hands deep in Merlin’s hair and tongue deep in Merlin’s mouth. Merlin makes low, hungry noises and scrabbles at the door until he can wrench it open and they tumble into the backseat.

It’s a good thing Merlin favors the dictum ‘be prepared’ because he’s never been more grateful for his stash of condoms and lube in the center console. Arthur plucks a foil packet from the pile Merlin showers on him and rips it open with his teeth, both of them shoving his trousers out of the way enough to pull his dick out and roll one on, followed by a thorough, messy coating of slick. Merlin gives himself a perfunctory stretch, impatient and reckless, then grabs Arthur’s cock by the root and feeds it into his arse.

It is _so_ gratifying to see Arthur’s mouth fall open the way it does.

It gets even better when Arthur lifts him off his lap, muscles in his forearms cording, and just lets him _drop_ back onto his prick.

“Holy shit,” Merlin gasps, breathless. Arthur bares his teeth, grabs Merlin by the waist, and gets right to it.

Arthur hammers Merlin like he’s a strongman carnival game, lights flashing up Merlin’s spine until his elbow slips off the front seat and Arthur grips his hip to steady him and each pistoning drive suddenly has bells and whistles ding! ding! dinging in Merlin’s skull.

“Oh, oh, oh my—fucking— _god_ ,” Merlin whines, strangled, cock kicking and spitting come all over Arthur’s crisp white shirt. Arthur’s eyes clench shut, hips twisting.

When he stops gasping long enough to speak, he looks up at Merlin through his sopping fringe and grins. “I cannot _wait_ until we begin negotiations for Albion Enterprises.”


End file.
